


The Mighty Ficlets

by ConcentratedMatter



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-13
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-09 18:39:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 2,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConcentratedMatter/pseuds/ConcentratedMatter
Summary: A series of very short character studies based on one word prompts received on Tumblr.Stars - NottDisgrace - BeauregardChess - Caduceus & CalebPages - JesterWorry - All of the M9Mask - NottHurricane - MollyDays - Caduceus & NottEndings - Yeza





	1. Stars

“Caleb says some of you are planets.” 

Nott poked into the grass with a small stick, making small mounds of dirt appear. She studied the material, but to her disappointment found nothing out of the ordinary. Throwing her stick away, she cast a look above. 

“It just seems silly. I mean, I’m on a planet and this one doesn’t glow at all.” 

The stars flickered back a silent response. She sighed and leaned back against the hill, the grass still wet with evening dew. She closed one eye and stretched out her arms above her head, reaching out into the night. By touching her thumb to her index finger she pretended to pluck the small pinpricks from the sky. 

“But, if some of you are…” She said, catching herself a bright, erratic star in between her long, green fingers. She closed her fist and held it carefully, imagining its heat against the skin of her palm. 

Looking at her hand, she wondered about other worlds, whether they were the same or different than this one. Whether they had forests and rivers and mountains. Whether they had people in it. Whether they had goblins, and wars, and death. 

Then she looked back at their camp, protected beneath the reds and browns of the autumn trees. The smoldering campfire cast a dancing glow on the silently sleeping figures. Her friends. 

Her family. 

A soft smile appeared on her face as she brought her catch to her lips. She slowly opened her fingers as if she was afraid to waste starlight, and then quickly whispered into her hand; 

“I hope you’re as beautiful as this one.”


	2. Disgrace

“You’re a disgrace.” 

The smooth stone felt warm against Beau’s cheek, slick with the sweat of the combatants. Trembling fingers pressed against the tiles, she tongued one of her teeth and felt it shift. The hot trickle of blood against the back of her throat hinted at a possible broken nose. 

Her heart pounded in her ears, making her face flush and pulse with burning pressure. Zeenoth’s words echoed in her mind, round and round, blocking out all other sounds until it was just her and the seeds of doubt. 

She suddenly envisioned her father standing over her, voice low with barely contained resentment as he banned yet another toy, or book, or activity. In all those years, his face had never betrayed any disappointment. 

No, that meant there had to have been expectations. 

Beau pushed up against the tiles and stood tall, wiping away the blood from her lip. 

_You’re a disgrace._

She spit on the ground, held up her fists and grinned; 

“Good.”


	3. Chess

“You’re very good at this, Mr. Clay.” 

Caduceus looked across the board and gave the other man a warm smile. Caleb had his chin in hand, elbow leaning on his knee as he stared intently at the pieces in front of him. 

“Hm, thank you. I guess I’ve had a lot of opportunity for practice.” 

“Ja?” Caleb said, still looking at the board. “Against your siblings?” 

Caduceus looked at the wizard curiously. He did not know Caleb as someone to often ask personal questions such as that. But here, sitting on either side of a chess board carefully balanced on a small tree stump, he noticed the deep concentration on the man’s face. 

The question had appeared almost as an automatic response. Perhaps Caleb’s personal barriers were temporarily lowered as his mental resources were intently focused elsewhere. 

“Not much, no. But I spent many seasons alone, and would often play against myself.” 

The wizard nodded, hummed a soft agreement and then slowly reached out. His hand hovered above a white piece, but it did not actually make a move to pick it up. Biting his lip, Caleb seemed to reconsider. Finally he let out a sigh and leaned back again, his chin returning to his hand. 

Caduceus smiled softly, amused at the man’s immense concentration. 

“There was this great, green oak tree near the back of the Blooming Grove,” He said, thinking back to his home as he picked up his mug of tea, “Sometimes I’d play against him instead.” 

It took a few seconds, but then a puzzled expression appeared on Caleb’s face. He looked up sharply at the firbolg, eyebrows raised.

 “…Did you win?” 

“Hmm, no.” Caduceus said, sipping his tea. “We never finished a game.”


	4. Pages

Jester watched the ink leech into the pages, like a dark storm wiping away memories. Normally, she would have immediately tried to safeguard her journal from the spill. But this time she didn’t. 

A sense of curiosity filled her as she observed the black liquid spreading through layers of paper. A drawing of Yasha and Caduceus leaning on the taffrail of the Ball Eater disappeared, while below it a tiny, angry Beau was also slowly eaten away by the spreading liquid. 

“Aren’t you… going to clean that?” 

Jester looked up at two large yellow eyes peering at her from the other side of the desk. She shrugged and Nott reached up across the desk to dip a finger in the ink, sniffing the liquid. 

Then they both watched in silence as on the opposite page a large ocean sketch gradually started disappearing. There had been singing seagulls in it, and a dancing crab. 

“I liked that one.” Nott said, as she licked the ink from her finger. She frowned at the taste. 

“Yeah, me too.” Jester answered, finally lifting up the journal to let the ink drip down. After cleaning away the excess, she carefully placed the book on the corner of the table to let it dry. 

“You want to go and get something to eat?” She asked, wiping her hands on her cloak as she stood. Nott grinned. 

“Only always.” 

When Jester returned later, she picked up the dried journal and sat back down at the desk. Rummaging through her backpack, she brought out her painting kit and some new brushes. She picked a light yellow pigment and mixed it with some water, smiling softly to herself. 

She put the yellow tip of the brush to one of the blackened pages and started anew; a tiny, exasperated Caleb trying to eat soup while around him Beau and Nott were having a food fight.


	5. Worry

It’s in the way Fjord keeps looking at them as they follow him towards his destiny. A half smile that doesn’t quite reach the corners, a small twinkle of doubt in his eyes. About what’s to come, the storm, the fallout. But not a thought of it is for himself. 

It’s visible in Caduceus’ steady presence. His tone of voice as he serves the crew their breakfast. Or when he stays up late walking the deck, chatting with whoever is on lookout. It’s the kindness of the metaphors he uses and the promises he keeps. 

It’s the way Beau wraps her arms around herself when they make a risky plan, and how her eyes follow whoever heads to bed first after a harrowing fight. It’s how she hits someone in the arm when she notices their joke doesn’t quite land with their intended target. 

It’s in Yasha’s watchful silence when the group is laughing, and in how she speaks when they are too silent. It’s her soft smile and her honest answers to honest questions. It’s her earth-shattering fury at those who dare to come between them and her. 

It’s in Caleb’s mind when he observes someone startle from their thoughts as Frumpkin leaps into their lap. It’s how quick his fingers search for his companions when he is blinded in darkness. It’s in his eyes when he listens to Jester talk of home. 

It’s the mask Jester wears when those around her have had theirs crumble. It’s in her laugh and in her touch. It’s the way she makes sure to listen when someone talks. And in her decision of when to ask the Traveler’s help. 

It’s in the way Nott lets Caleb carry her when she would prefer to walk. It’s in the wise questions she asks, and the questionable wisdoms she shares. It’s the perpetual fear in her heart, and yet the decision to always go first.


	6. Mask

There’s a brief flash of pain, stabbing through her like an arrow, until it bursts forth to the other side and shatters her world into nothing.

When she opens her eyes she’s sitting cross-legged on the ground. Her hands are in her lap, green fingers twirling with the soft, white bandages on her arms. Her clothes are her own, as are all the items she’s wearing. But nothing else around her is. 

The endless darkness stretches into every direction, but she somehow doesn’t feel alone. There’s a reassuring presence around her, and a soft pull from behind. She closes her eyes and focuses on it, but it’s fragile and weak. She feels that if she moves she might break it, and as the thought enters her head so does fear enter her heart. 

“Don’t worry, little one.” 

She opens her eyes and watches as the darkness fractures and pulses, and then coalesces into the form of a tall, slender woman with a pale face and dark hair. The figure is painfully beautiful, and she quickly looks away, feeling as if she’s staring at the sun. 

The woman watches her silently and then slowly reaches down a pale, slender hand. Nott hesitates. Here, in the calm eye of the storm, she feels like nothing could hurt her. Carefully, she takes the offered aid and is easily helped to her feet, her body impossibly light and nimble. 

The pull from behind immediately bubbles and grows. 

“Thank you,” Nott says, smiling nervously at the woman as she lets go. Her fingers immediately find their way to the doll’s face hanging from strings around her neck, fidgeting. The pull grows more incessant, and she thinks she understands. 

“I think I need to go now.” 

The woman nods at her, and she can hear voices calling at the edge of her hearing. White rays of light burst forth around her, eating at the darkness like acid, her vision shrinking until she can only see the woman’s unreadable, porcelain expression. 

As her world rushes back around her, she feels a strong desire to say one last thing; 

“I like your mask!”


	7. Hurricane

He strode in with a storm by his side, shining bright, bringing them together like the wind picking up wayward leaves. A brazen thief, his grin charmed when they felt all low, looking for some place to go, someone to follow. 

Thrown in aimless directions, their trail gave every city a new face, left many a person wholly changed. A chaotic wake as they soared unfettered, everything rearranged, always hoping for the better. A kiss, a touch, a stern talking to; whatever they do, they go through, together. 

With a vivid star as their guide, an endless whirlwind moving blind, never looking behind them in time. But theirs is the tranquil eye, soothing and kind. Grinning with delight, in all their might, be the Mighty Nein. 

In the hurricane’s tow, the devastation so loud and fast, they believed there was still time to grow when it passed. How were they to know, it wouldn’t last?


	8. Days

“You didn’t wake me.”

Caduceus would almost not have noticed Nott’s approach had it not been for the sudden hush of insects hiding from her bare, goblin feet passing through the dewy grass. She nimbly climbed onto the log next to him, and he nodded at her in greeting.

“Hm, I guess… I must have forgot.”

Noticing her shiver at the early morning chill, he removed the woolen blanket draped across his legs and hung it across her shoulders. She wrapped it around herself gratefully, and then stretched out her arms and yawned, long and hard.

Caduceus returned his attention to the still dark forest, their little camp cast in the eerie grey light of pre-dawn. Nott remained silent as she watched him. The sounds of the forest slowly picked back up and he listened.

Time passed as they sat in companionable silence, the light slowly shifting until finally Nott spoke up again;

“I get it, though. I quite like the night as well.”

Caduceus lifted his head to look at the sky above, swirling clouds cast in brilliant hues of orange and red. In the distance, an eager morning bird began the very first song.

He smiled.

“It’s not the nights I like.”


	9. Endings

He reads to Luke often. She used to before, but now he does, like so many other things. **  
**

The stories help with the nightmares. Once or twice he tried to read Luke some of his chemistry books, which was indeed very effective at putting the boy to sleep, but not much else. So he sticks with the stories.

Luke listens attentively, eyes wide, a head full of hair poking out from the bed covers. He doesn’t ask questions often, but just listens. Yeza isn’t sure whether he’s a good storyteller, but he reads them anyway. Tales of kings and queens, dragons and fey, brave heroes and happy endings.

It’s funny how many of them end with a marriage. The foes have been vanquished, the obstacles have been overcome, kingdoms have been saved, and the hero returns home and seals the story with a marriage.

It’s a sort of lie, he thinks. Marriages aren’t an ending at all.

It’s where stories begin.


End file.
